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The evidence looked convincing.

It looked, in fact, extremely convincing, and I sat in that room with my stomach dropping through the floor and looked at images of a crime I had never committed, laid out in careful, damning detail.

Too convincing.

That was the thought that surfaced, even through the panic, even as my life came apart on the table in front of me.

It was too clean, too complete, too perfectly assembled to be the sloppy paper trail of an actual desperate student.